


The Shadow in His Eyes

by TheFullmetalSociopath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, BAMF Keith (Voltron), BAMF Lance (Voltron), Back to Earth, Dark Lance (Voltron), Family Drama, Family Reunions, I suppose, Identity Reveal, Keith (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, M/M, Mild Torture Themes, have mercy on me, kinda???, lance's family is suspicious, little bit of family conflict, still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-19 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15498597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFullmetalSociopath/pseuds/TheFullmetalSociopath
Summary: "Lance was afraid, so, so afraid. Afraid of what, he wasn’t sure. Over the years he had become brave in the face of the impossible, learned courage in the face of death and all that jazz, but that was the obvious consequence of fighting on the frontlines of a war for years.That was it, that’s what he was scared of. The years.Those years that had swept him far out of reach of his family, those years that had changed him so drastically, those years that may have alienated him from his family. "Lance and Keith land on Earth, and Lance gets a chance to see his family again, whom he's missed so dearly for such a long time. Only, things don't go according to plan. Things go very, very not according to plan, in more ways than one. This is a reunion fic where Lance meets with his family again. It's set post season 5, with a few alterations, such as the team never sent messages to their families.Crossposted on FFN





	1. First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!  
> This is an idea I’ve had for a while, what can I say, I’m a sucker for reunion fics. This is meant to be the first in a series of similar stories which may or may not be related. We’ll see. This was originally planned as a oneshot, but I got to the end of this chapter and said to myself, “Crap. if I don’t split this up it’ll be the longest oneshot in history. And this is such a perfect spot to end a chapter!” Anyways, please read/review/follow/favorite, all that good stuff, and let me know if I make any mistakes, any. (slight Klance, so… just be aware of that?)  
> Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Voltron: Legendary Defender. (but the people who do are doing a beautiful job)

_ Lance _

 

Lance took a deep breath as he gazed towards the small house nestled beside the ocean. It was baby blue and bordered with white, old and new and familiar at the same time. His chest ached for what he knew came with it, the delicious fragrance of his mamá’s cooking and the simple warmth from the love of his family. His legs itched to sprint across the sand on which he stood, to launch himself to the front door and past, to greet his family whom he had missed so dearly for so long. 

And yet, that same aching in his chest was a pressing weight, constricting his every breath. The same legs which itched to run home also burned to run far, far away. 

Lance was afraid, so, so afraid. Afraid of what, he wasn’t sure. Over the years he had become brave in the face of the impossible, learned courage in the face of death and all that jazz, but that was the obvious consequence of fighting on the frontlines of a war for  _ years. _

That was it, that’s what he was scared of. The years. 

Those years that had swept him far out of reach of his family, those years that had changed him so drastically, those years that may have alienated him from his family. 

Lance hadn’t realized he’d backed away a few steps until a firm hand clasped his shoulder. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, and what they meant by it, or to picture the determined gleam in their eyes. 

“What,” Lance swallowed nervously, “what if they don’t want me anymore? What if they don’t recognize me?  _ Dios mío,  _ what if the little ones don’t even  _ know me?”  _ The insecurities just spilled out of his mouth, one after another.

Lance’s voice wavered, tears threatening to fall. “What if they don’t even love m-”

“No. Stop,” Keith sad firmly, turning Lance to face him and trapping him in his gaze. “You’ve waited all this time to see them, and this may be the only chance we have for a very long time. Take this chance. I’ve seen you homesick; you’re miserable. And when you’re miserable so is the team.”

“Besides,” Keith continued, “I have no idea how they couldn’t love you. Let’s go.” He took Lance’s hand and tugged him forward, practically dragging him until Lance got ahold of himself and started walking on his own. 

Before Lance was ready, they were at the door. Waves of nostalgia hit him again and again, so overwhelming he thought he might drown. 

The delicate blue brushstrokes atop the white paint were beginning to fade, but Lance could still make out the intricate, curling swirls of flowers and waves. His eldest sister, Veronica, had always been an artist. The old rocking chair was still on the front porch, if a bit more ramshackle than when he’d last seen it. Abuela never went a day without sitting there, watching the ocean.

As Lance raised his hand to the doorbell, he also caught sight of a few new things, things that gave him pause and stilled his hand, if only for a moment. New scuffs and scratches on the floorboards, a new welcome mat, missing pegs in the railing. Small things like that which could have told such big stories. Stories he wasn’t there to share. 

He rang the doorbell. 

Voices called out and argued behind the door, and Lance could’ve sworn he was back at this house seven years ago, before the Garrison and space and everything. 

“Ver, get the door!”

“I got it last time- you get it Marco!”

“Nuh-uh, what about Luis?”

“Mamá! The door!”

Footsteps pounded and then all of a sudden the door swung open, revealing a kindly looking old woman, with graying curly hair and tanned but wrinkling skin. Mamá. 

“Hola, how can I help you…” her cheerful greeting died in her throat as her eyes widened in recognition. “Lance…” she whispered. “Oh Lance, my baby,” she flung her arms around him and held him like he would disappear into smoke. “Is this real?” she sobbed, “Is this real? Is it really you hijo?”

Lance had been frozen in place, the sudden shock and elation of seeing his mother again rooting him to the spot, but he snapped himself out of it enough to respond, even if he couldn’t keep his own tears at bay. 

“Yeah… Yeah Mamá, it’s me,” his lips wobbled, and he buried his face in her hair. “I’m home, Mamá, I’m home.”

* * *

 

_ Lance _

 

The rest of the hugs and tearful reunions were amazing, heart wrenching, and a blur all at the same time. Everyone was home for the summer, so Lance blessed his luck that he wouldn’t have to do anything like this two times in one day. If he’d had to, he probably would have broken down. 

As it was, he’d been a bit of a mess, especially when he’d met his little niece and nephew, Luciana and Liam, Veronica’s three-year-old twins. Lance may have cried a little (okay, a lot).

The family’s initial reactions to Keith, however, reminded Lance that not everything would be perfect. Far from it, in fact. His family was oddly...cold, suspicious almost, when they regarded his presence. Lance even thought he caught Abuela whisper something about the sins of facial tattoos under her breath. 

Lance had never even given a second thought to Keith’s appearance and the Galra mark across his face. Lance had actually not thought at all about what his family would think of Keith. It sounded a bit terrible, but honestly he had just figured that they would have seen him as the awesome guy he was and leave it at that. Not… this. 

“Sweetie, who’s your,” his mother paused, “friend?” 

“Oh!” Lance turned and pulled a very reluctant Keith up beside him. “This is Keith, my…” he searched for the right words. A joke would do. “... partner in crime!”

“Boyfriend,” Keith supplied with a slight twitch of the lips. 

There was a slight, almost imperceptible change, but it passed so quickly Lance almost wrote it off as nonexistent. But he knew his family, and something was off, if only slightly. 

“Wait, stupid hair, fighter pilot, rival, wash-out Keith? Is that the Keith we’re talking about?” Veronica laughed, lightening the mood. 

“Yup!” Lance chirped, glad to pretend there wasn’t a building suspicion behind the eyes of some of his family. 

And then, through the flurry of countless excited questions, the question that he’d been dreading was voiced, and Lance wished he could stuff it back down Uncle James’s throat. 

“Where were you?”

Lance stopped at that, he froze halfway through chatting with Luis, hands hovering in the air, where they had just been gesturing excitedly. He dropped them, a sudden weariness washing over him, as he thought about what to say. What could he say? It wasn’t just that no excuse would cut it, ever, but he actually couldn’t tell them the truth. For their safety, and sanity too. 

What, say they found a magical flying lion from an alien planet that whisked them away into the far reaches of the universe, into a galactic war in which they were leading the charge as defenders of the universe? His family would sooner send him to an asylum than believe him. 

But what could he make up that would be believable? There was nothing he could say that would sound any better, nothing that could convey that he had actually not been able to reach them at all because he had been in  _ space _ , and that if he had been even a system away he would have flown straight home. 

So what could he say? 

Nothing.

“I can’t tell you that,” Lance looked away, choosing to focus instead on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

A soft hand wiped a tear from his cheek, and he looked up once more. His mother smiled at him softly.

“It’s alright, Lance, just tell us when you’re ready. This has been a shock for all of us. Why don’t both of you wash up and get some rest? It’s late. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

It was late, Lance realized with a start. It was pitch black outside, and the porchlight buzzed with moths and other bugs grasping for their last traces of light. He hadn’t known what time it was when they landed. He actually hadn’t even known what day it was, just a rough estimate of the time that had passed. 

He happily agreed and retreated upstairs, followed by Keith, to collapse onto the guest bed that he knew the family always kept vacant. Lance tried not to think about the shadows he saw behind the eyes of his family members, but he knew that he would likely have to confront them about it tomorrow.

Or something.

* * *

 

_ The McClain Family _

 

After they knew that Lance and Keith had gone to sleep, the family convened in the living room. No one wanted to speak first, but they all knew they had the same things on their minds.

“Where do you think he was all this time?” Uncle James asked, breaking the tense silence. 

“Somewhere that the Garrison couldn’t find him, that’s for sure,” Marco wrung his hands. “What if he faked his death, or just plain ran away? Why would he do it?”

“The bigger question is why he wouldn’t tell us,” Abuela added, a dark tone in her voice suggesting that she had already thought of an answer to that particular question. “Makes you wonder just what he was doing for five years.”

“No,” Mamá covered her mouth.

“You’re not saying…” Marco trailed off. 

“You’re saying he may have gotten into something criminal, like gangs or mobs or something worse?” Uncle James blurted. 

“How could you accuse him of something like that? What could possibly make you think that about our Lance, Abuela?” Veronica demanded hotly.

“Look at the facts nieta,” Abuela retorted, a bit of harshness edging her words. “Lance disappeared during a huge and hush-hush accident at the Galaxy Garrison, and was presumed dead not long after, along with two other cadets. Five years later he shows up at our doorstep with no warning, no reason, and no explanation as to where he’s been. He never even contacted us! What was he involved in that was so bad that he couldn’t even do that for all this time?”

“And,” Abuela continued, “there are other things that I just do not like the look of.”

“Like what?” Luis asked.

“That boy, Keith. He was booted from the Garrison for a reason. Maybe he dragged Lance into something bad. And did you see that ghastly tattoo on his face?” Abuela tapped her cane on the ground. “That boy is trouble,” she stated firmly.

“I’m not so sure, Abuela, he was quiet but I think he seemed pretty alright,” Marco offered reluctantly.

“Regardless,” she rasped, “Lance has something about him that is different. He has the look that his abuelo had when he came home to me from war. If you don’t believe me, watch him tomorrow, you’ll see it too.”

“See what, Abuela?” Luis ventured.

“The shadows in his eyes,” Abuela said sadly. “That is not the Lance we knew.”


	2. Second Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola mis amigos, cómo están?  
> I hope to add maybe a bit more action and confrontation and stuffs like that in this chapter, but we’ll see. Wish me luck!  
> Enjoy!

_ Lance _

 

The morning dawned, and to Lance it was an unfathomably beautiful sight. That, that right there, the calming hues of the sky gently fading into a soft pink, that was one of the biggest things he missed from Earth. It truly was all the little things, and sometimes they hit him all at once, shocking the breath out of him to the point that he wondered why he had ever left.

And as Lance rolled over on the cramped, rickety old bed that he had slept on, having arrived on such short notice (more like none at all), he was met with the sight of that reason. Keith’s too long black hair was piled to the side, cascading like a little waterfall over his shoulder. The purple mark on the left side of his face was just barely visible in the dawn light, despite how much it contrasted with his pale skin, and it added another layer of intrigue to his appearance. Not that he needed it, though, because Lance found plenty of intrigue already. Like the way Keith’s mouth hung just slightly open, and how he knew that Keith would deny any notion that he drooled in his sleep upon his waking. And that, after years of being alone, and more years of adjusting to having friends, to having a family again, Keith still couldn’t shake the his habit of almost curling up like a cat in his sleep. Lance always teased him about it (because honestly, as if he wasn’t already half space cat, this wasn’t helping his case at all), but really, it was just so endearing. That, and so many other things. 

Lance just couldn’t comprehend how his family didn’t see how good Keith was, how soft, how Lance saw him. The way they’d looked at him, like he was dangerous, like he was more disgusting than the scum on the bottom of their shoes, made Lance angry enough to do something he might regret. He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

Groaning, Lance rolled out of bed, and stumbled a few steps to the nearby bathroom. When he returned Keith was sitting up in bed, blearily rubbing his face. 

“Sorry, Keith, did I wake you?” Lance plopped down beside him on the bed, making the mattress jump a bit. Keith shook his head mutley and stood up, but Lance caught his arm before he could go anywhere. 

“Hey, I know how my family treated you last night, and we’re going to set this straight,” Lance assured. 

Keith looked down, furrowing his eyebrows and quickly looked back up, a firm set to his jaw but a caring glint to his eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, “but you can’t get mad at them, Lance.” Lance opened his mouth to protest, but Keith continued. “I know you’re not quick to anger, but I saw how you looked. Not many things press your buttons, but that did. I’m not unused to this kind of stuff, and I hope we can fix it, but I do not want you to damage your relationship with your family because of a misunderstanding over  _ me.” _

Lance looked down, sighing. Keith was right. Keith was right, but it didn’t mean Lance would have to like it too much. “It sucks that we can’t actually tell them where we’ve been,” Lance said glumly. “That would clear up a whole lot; they looked at us like we were criminals,” he laughed bitterly.

“Well, if you think about it, we kinda are, in a sense!” Keith chuckled, referring to the fact that to the Galra Empire, they were at the top of the most wanted list. At that, Lance’s bitter laugh turned into a genuine one, and so when Luis poked his head through the door to call them down to breakfast just a moment later, he was met with the sight of two men nearly rolling on the floor in laughter that had spiraled out of control much too quickly. 

“Um,” Luis piped up, “breakfast is ready, when you want to come down.” He quickly retreated, and his footsteps could be heard receding down the stairs. Huh, that was a bit odd. Luis hadn’t been nearly that, what was it,  _ antsy _ , the night before, so what had changed?

When Lance and Keith arrived downstairs to have breakfast with the rest of the family, Lance could practically feel the tenseness in the air. Something was definitely going on. 

“Morning, everybody!” he exclaimed with fake cheer. “Is something up?” he asked with feigned ignorance when no one answered his greeting. Mamá looked guilty, Veronica angry, Uncle James curious, and Marco nudged Abuela with his elbow. The lady in question’s face was unreadable as she readied to speak, and Lance knew that something bad was coming. 

“Lance, Keith, why don’t you two sit down,” she rasped. “We would like to talk with you about a few things.”

Oh boy.

* * *

 

_ Mamá Camila McClain _

 

Camila could only feel a sense of apprehension as Lance and Keith took their seats. Her mother was very blunt, to say the least, and she could see it in her eyes that some scathing remarks were probably going to escape those weathered lips. She could also see something ever so slightly hostile thinly veiled under Lance’s expression. 

She prayed that this wouldn’t break something between them and Lance, just when they had gotten him back. But they had to know. They had to know where he was, and why he only came back now. 

“Where have you been?” Abuela began.

“Abuela, you know we already said that we can’t-”

“And why is that, hm?” Abuela quickly cut Lance off, a cutting edge to her voice. “What could you have been up to for five years that was so important that we thought you were dead, and so bad that you cannot tell us what happened?” Abuela paused to glare at Lance, daring him to respond. Lance, in turn, kept his mouth shut, but Camila thought she caught a trace of guilt in his eyes. Evidently Abuela caught that too, because she resumed digging with renewed vigor. 

“Did you run away from the Garrison and become so ashamed that you didn’t dare come back? Or maybe you’re a criminal, on the run from the law?” Camila wanted to stop her at that, after all, how could her precious, lighthearted son be the kind of person that her mother suggested? However, she said nothing, and instead watched Lance. He seemed surprisingly calm, which would have been unnerving on its own, but at the moment Keith had the look about him of a wild lion lying in wait. It was not a reassuring image, and if Camila was honest with herself, it both scared and baffled her how her son came to fall in love with such a person. 

Abuela’s next dig at Lance seemed to mirror Camila’s own observations. 

“Not to mention this shady boy you brought along with you! Did he drag you into all of this?” she waved a finger threateningly. “My boy would never come home with such a- a  _ diablo! _ ” Abuela huffed. 

Ah, Camila realized part of why Abuela was so angry. It was because of how much Lance had changed, and Keith was practically the living embodiment of it, and quite possibly the catalyst for that change. Camila herself hadn’t decided what she thought about the Lance that had returned to them, or Keith, for that matter. And Abuela’s violent musings did bring up some worries. Some very, very troubling worries. 

It wasn’t like Abuela was delusional, either. She had voiced what Camila, and probably everyone, had been thinking. Lance was different, in the way he looked, the way he acted, even the way he moved. There was a subtle weariness about him, and a lithe grace lying just beneath his usual happy bounce. And the way his eyes moved, surveying everything around him with a piercing stare like it was second nature, to say that was unnerving would be an understatement. 

And Camila would be lying if she said Keith didn’t make her feel uneasy. Maybe it was just because she didn’t know him, but there was an aloof, almost foreign air about him at times. He was sharp, in both demeanor and appearance. He was the kind of person that you could see being a punk, or a troublemaker, or a criminal as Abuela had stated. The tattoo and scars didn’t help, either. 

The pointed mark of intense purple gave Keith’s face a wild, feral quality in Camila’s eyes. The pale scars that lined his arms and poked out from under the dark t-shirt he wore harkened to a life of violence, and Camila did not like that one bit. 

She liked it even less that even though Lance still wore long sleeved shirt, she thought she could make out a few scars on his collarbone, and one at his wrist, the pale tissue starkly contrasting with his tanned skin.

This was not the life she had wanted for her son, whatever it had become in these recent years. 

A few seconds of silence had passed since Abuela’s accusation, and no one had dared to speak. However, Keith broke the silence, standing up stiffly and facing Abuela with a clenched jaw and balled fists. 

“I swear, I did not drag Lance into anything, and at any rate, it was probably  _ him _ who-”

A mechanical roar filled the house, as if a helicopter or plane was passing directly overhead and only ten feet above the house, shaking the floorboards and making the pictures clatter against the walls. It filled Camila’s mind, and for all of two second the din was her unbearable reality. Then it passed. 

“The hell was that?” James remarked, hunched and holding one hand to his ear. 

“I’ll go look,” Veronica strode towards the door. She was stopped short when someone grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the door. Lance wasted no time in putting himself between all of them and the door, which only baffled Camila.

“Lance, what’s wrong?” Camila asked, concerned. Lance looked at her for a long moment, and Camila could see him working out what to say, if anything. Camila only hoped that it would be the truth, and shed some light on the strange situation at hand. 

A loud knock sounded on the door, and a gravelly voice called out. 

“This is the authorities, please allow us to search your premises immediately!” 

Lance snapped his head to face the family, and quickly pressed a finger to his lips. Despite their opposition only minutes ago, the entire family complied. Camila supposed they must have seen what she also saw in Lance’s eyes.

Fear.

* * *

 

_ Veronica McClain-López _

 

Veronica crept back into the kitchen as Lance gave them the signal to be silent. Just as she reached the kitchen, Keith padded past her, silent as a cat and… armed to the teeth with their kitchen knives?

Veronica exchanged looks with the rest of her family, and found that they were all varying degrees of angry, scared, nervous, and suspicious, just as she was. The only thought that ran through her head was that her baby brother really  _ was  _ on the run from the law, and they were all going to pay for it.

But something had seemed a little off about that officer’s voice…

Veronica watched with bated breath as the two men moved towards the door with stealth and precision, and Keith passed Lance a few of his knives. They took up positions, Lance ready to yank the door open and Keith standing at the side, ready to attack whoever was on the other side of that door. 

This was really happening, wasn’t it? The situation felt so unreal, but Veronica knew it had to be.

Lance ticked off the seconds on his fingers.

_ Five. _

Lance’s hand hovered at the door. 

_ Four.  _

Keith dropped into a fighting stance.

_ Three.  _

The officer pounded on the door again, shouting louder this time, more demanding, more hostile.

_ Two. _

It felt like the house itself was holding its breath. Veronica didn’t dare move a muscle.

_ One _

Lance yanked the door open and before Veronica could blink, they were upon the huge figure in the doorway. She barely had time to register the sleek and cruel looking armor it wore, and even more strikingly its skin,  _ purple skin _ , before Keith roundhouse kicked it in the head. The force from the kick sent it stumbling into the house, and barely seconds passed before Keith had pinned it to the wall, all but one of his knives now stuck deep into the chinks of armor and what Veronica had to assume were important tendons, effectively immobilizing the soldier, and ripped the visored helmet off its head. Lance ducked outside for a moment and then returned inside, slamming the door shut and saying that they were safe. The “for now” went unspoken as he joined Keith in front of it.

Now, Veronica had labeled it as  _ it  _ because she just could not, in no uncertain terms, comprehend what this creature, however humanoid, was.

Its skin was dark, vivid purple, and it had a thin layering of fur of the same color. It was a towering hulk of a thing, maybe somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, but somehow Keith kept it pinned to the wall like it was nothing. When it opened its mouth to speak, it revealed wicked fangs. And its eyes, sickly yellow and glowing, devoid of irises and pupils alike, made Veronica shudder.  

“Your actions are in direct opposition of the mighty Galra Empire,” it sneered. “Cease your treasonous actions or risk the wrath of the Empire!” it ordered, despite its somewhat helpless position. When an answer was not given in what it apparently had deemed a reasonable amount of time, it began to speak again. 

“You earthlings will feel the guns of the Empire, and no one will come to save you, not even V-”

It was not able to finish its statement before Keith slammed its head against the wall, and pressed a knife to its throat. His face was like thunder, the anger written all over his every action. 

“How do you know that?” he hissed.

“What did you do?” the last question sounded much more like a threat, and somehow even more menacing than the first. And what was truly terrifying, to Veronica at least, was that it had come from Lance, standing at Keith’s shoulder, glowering with bottled up rage.

The purple creature gulped in fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, that one got away from me.  
> Once that chapter started it just ran off without me. This may be the longest chapter I’ve written on this site so far! Hope you all enjoyed, please remember to follow, favorite, and give me a little good ol’ feedback by reviewing. School’s getting pretty crazy at this time of year, so I can’t promise how timely I’ll be with updating this. I’ll try my best, though!  
> Lots of love!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


	3. Third Rock From the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 peeps! I am ever so slightly sleep deprived and ready to write!  
> Hahaha  
> Haha   
> Ha   
> Please help me.  
> But, ya know, enjoy!

_ Keith _

 

In other circumstances, Keith would have felt a smug sense of accomplishment wash over him to see a Galra soldier in so much fear met with just the sight of two humans. But right now, all he could feel was a hot rage in the pit of his stomach as he gripped the knife he held tighter, pushing it just slightly harder against the soldier’s neck. Even if he didn’t have any family left on Earth, he couldn’t accept them being here for the sake of his friends, turned family. It was they who had too much to lose. 

He could only imagine how Lance felt.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t prepared for this, of course. Keith and Lance had come up with a loose strategy in the- then unlikely- event that the Galra would show up. 

They hadn’t actually expected them to.

The plan, or at least the parts they were using at the moment, really just boiled down to one thing: anonymity. If the Galra had gone to them immediately, guns blazing, and caught them off guard, that would have been different. But given the fact that, due to their behavior, they were canvassing the general vicinity of where the paladins had landed, they didn’t know where they were. And however well known and feared the Paladins of Voltron were to the Galra ranks, the faces and names of the paladins were kept strictly secret from the enemy, to protect the paladins in moments of downtime, when they had time away from war in a peaceful region they did not want to bring strife to with their mere presence. 

Moments like these. 

That was why Keith had opted to take the kitchen knives instead of his activating his bayard, which hung in the form of a small clip at his belt. Lance had understood as well when Keith had given him a knife. It was a part of the plan, after all. 

Let the Galra think that they were just some brave, stupid, and just ever so slightly scary humans, and pay them little mind.

Even so, Keith kind of wished for the wicked blade of his bayard, or his Marmora blade, but the knives would have to do.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder as the first trickle of blood ran down the soldier’s neck, then over the dark grey armor, and then to join the growing pool of blood on the floor, and felt rather than heard what Lance conveyed. 

_ Keep your head level. _

Then, as the same hand reached up to pluck the knife from Keith’s own hand and held it against the soldier’s neck just as Keith had done, Keith heard something else in Lance’s actions.

_ And help me keep mine. _

* * *

 

_ Galra Soldier _

“Tell us,” the tall, tan man growled. “I won’t ask again.”

“Y-your measley, pathetic race wouldn’t be able to comprehend!” the soldier managed to spit, but he was quaking in his boots, back pressed against the wall. The pain was almost unbearable. Every limb hurt, and the hot blood that matted his fur and ran down his skin in hot rivulets scared him more than he would like to admit. That, and the shame of being rendered immobile by a  _ human _ who had no grasp of the Galra’s might. He wanted to disappear into that wall, to run away, if he could only move his legs. But the Galra way was victory or death, and he would not deny that code.

“Try me,” the man leaned in close, close enough for the soldier to feel his breath hot on his face. He cringed away, trying desperately to quell the shaking in his limbs. 

What would it hurt if he told him? It wasn’t like one native earthling could do anything about what they were doing. He could die here, for the glory of the Galra Empire, and this human would not be able to change a thing. 

“We followed two of the Paladins of Voltron to this planet, and then they landed within 5 miles of these premises, so we are searching for the scum to eliminate the threat they pose to the empire, however small,” the soldier forced a confident smirk onto his face, pushing down the tremble in his voice. This was only a small pebble that stood in front of him, the knife was barely a grain of sand; they meant nothing. “And perhaps their families too, if that is why they returned to this miserable excuse for a planet. You seem to be awfully calm about the arrival of “extraterrestrials,” as you call us, when your society is ignorant our existence. Is it possible you are one such relative?” the soldier dared to taunt. 

The man leaned in, dark intent etched into his features, morphing the handsome features into a grotesque, murderous mask. His blue eyes were void of anything but hate.  

The soldier realized with a jolt that he had made a very, extremely dire mistake. 

“If you lay one filthy claw on my family, you’ll know the meaning of pain,” he bit out. The knife pressed harder on the soldier’s neck; he could feel the cold blade begin to bite his skin, cutting him deeper than when the other man had nicked him last. 

“V-victory or death,” the soldier challenged, even as he subtly tried to reach for the field communicator at his hip. If he could just press it, he could get backup, and get out of this situation, with knives protruding from every limb, with this deranged human…

The human’s eyes flicked down, noticing the slight movement. In an instant, he lifted the knife from the soldiers throat, and flicked it at the wrist of the hand that had been reaching for the communicator. The man severed his tendon, and the Galra soldier’s senses were blinded by pain for a second or two. Panicking, when the pain faded he found he could no longer move the hand at all. It hung limply at his side. 

The knife remained raised by the man, pointed mercilessly at a vulnerable crack in the soldier’s armor (a thin crack between armor plates that was too small for the vast majority of weapons used in combat, and so was thought inconsequential), poised directly over the Galra soldier’s heart. 

“Time’s up,” the man said. “I’ve lost my patience.” He raised the knife over his head. The soldier was helpless, immobilized by both the knives in his limbs and the fear in his soul, as he watched the blade shimmer in the light. The lights in this ramshackle excuse for a house, coupled with the color of the walls, made it glow with an almost blue light…

Ah.

It all made sense now.

“Vrepit sa, motherfucker.”

The Blue Paladin brought the knife down.

The soldier’s world went black.

* * *

 

_ Lance _

 

He aimed the blade, deadly in both accuracy and intent. With a simple twitch of muscle and a hot surge of rage, he cursed and brought the blade down. The soldier slumped to the floor.

But not by Lance’s doing.

He glanced down at the hand which held his arm in place, the tip of the knife barely inches from where the soldier’s breastplate had been, and traced it back along a pale arm, and finally to his boyfriend’s face. Lance felt a strange numbness as he saw the concern underneath the firm objection, saw the loving glint in Keith’s steely eyes. 

“Don’t,” Keith murmured, leaning in close so that only Lance could hear him. “Not here, in front of your family. You’re different enough after years of war. Don’t widen that disconnect between your family.” He looked down at the soldier and raised his voice so the others could hear him. “We’re lucky that he passed out before he could signal for help, but whether it was from blood loss or fear, I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he quipped with a nervous chuckle.

Keith crouched down to disable the tracker that Lance knew to be on the inside of the armor’s collar, and tugged at Lance’s arm as he did so, indicating to Lance to follow suit.

“Look at what you’re doing, forcing me to make the jokes to pick up your slack,” he whispered, traces of humor fading fast from his voice, rapidly being replaced by seriousness. “I’m going to drag this guy into your basement and dress his wounds, at least to the point where he won’t  _ die, _ so we can interrogate him later, and in the five minutes it takes me to do that, you need to be ready to explain this to your family.”

“But-” Lance tried to object.

“Tell them the truth, Lance,” Keith spoke louder now. “At this point, there’s no going back. They deserve to know why they’re now in a warzone.” 

Lance felt it in the pit of his stomach. He felt the harsh truth of Keith’s words, and the subtle instructions in the nuances they carried beneath. And as Keith gave him a quick peck on the cheek and promptly disappeared downstairs, lugging the Galra soldier down with him, the full reality of the situation crashed upon him, heavy and tumultuous as a tsunami.

He turned to face his family, and do something harder than anything during his travels in space. More painful than any of his many war wounds.

He was going to lie to them, again. Just when he might have had his only chance to tell the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vrepit sa, dudes  
> I am sorry.  
> This chap was a bit shorter than the rest, I think? But I promise I’m working on the next one, this chapter just was… timed right, I guess? It felt right, where I ended it. I’m also sorry about the buckets of langst (but come on, dark!lance is pretty metal)... My bad.  
> BUT ANYWAYS please kudos/comment/bookmark/whatever, all that great jazz, or just do what I do and cry… whatever you feel like.
> 
> Lots of love!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


	4. For Fear of Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, todos! (hello, all!)... I hope I translated that right, haha.  
> Sorry for that cliffhanger! Thank you all for your support, and yes, yes I am getting more sleep. Thank you for the concern. It was touching.  
> Btw, this chapter is a byproduct of my frustration at not being able to watch season 6 yet, so please, no spoilers!  
> Please R&R and F&F, and please, everyone, enjoy chapter four!  
> (and please, don’t hurt me for what happens…)  
> TITLE IS COURTESY OF ephemeralite BLESS YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL CREATURE

_ Lance _

 

~Previously~

 

_ “Tell them the truth, Lance,” Keith spoke louder now. “At this point, there’s no going back. They deserve to know why they’re now in a warzone.”  _

_ Lance felt it in the pit of his stomach. He felt the harsh truth of Keith’s words, and the subtle instructions in the nuances they carried beneath. And as Keith gave him a quick peck on the cheek and promptly disappeared downstairs, lugging the Galra soldier down with him, the full reality of the situation crashed upon him, heavy and tumultuous as a tsunami. _

_ He turned to face his family, to do something harder than anything during his travels in space. More painful than any of his many war wounds. _

_ He was going to lie to them, again. Just when he might have had his only chance to tell the truth. _

 

~Now~

 

It wasn’t lying, not exactly. Or, at the very least, that’s what others always told Lance. Keith had said it, the whole team had said it, even his family would probably say it later, when- no, if- Lance ever actually told them what he considered the ugly truth.

Because really, what else do you call hiding the truth if not “a lie?”

Omission of information?

White lies, maybe?

A “softer version” of events?

However it was phrased, however it was presented, it didn’t change how Lance saw it: telling his family about his time at war, on the frontlines, in  _ space,  _ and making it seem like anything less than the brutal and terrible world he lived was a blatant  _ lie. _

But he could never tell them. Lance knew that. Lance didn’t want them to know, didn’t even want them to  _ imagine _ the hell he’s seen.

He didn’t want them to hate him, or fear him, or God forbid  _ pity  _ him. He didn’t want them to worry, not like that. Never like that.

So, when Keith told him to tell his family the truth, and when his eyes told him to tell them the  _ soft  _ truth, Lance agreed wholeheartedly. He turned to his family, took a steadying breath, and began his explanation.

And his apology.

* * *

 

_ Keith _

 

The basement steps were dark and foreign as Keith lugged the injured, unconscious, and profusely bleeding soldier down, down, into the shadowy recesses of the room. The metal armor was cool against his fingers, but the hot blood that coated it made his weighty cargo slippery in his hands. Keith managed to find an old wooden chair, and deposited the Galra soldier on it as he searched for some rope, or perhaps zip-ties. 

Keith padded through the cluttered basement, peering at piles and shelves, pushing clumps of junk and long forgotten knick-knacks aside in the half light during his search. His fingers brushed something unexpected as he picked up a bundle of zip-ties from a cardboard box. There, just under where the zip-ties had been, was a family picture. Keith gingerly picked it up, the task at hand momentarily forgotten. 

The picture was like a window to the past, one that Keith felt he had been searching for for a very long time. It showed Lance, young and happy, smiling that carefree smile of his that was unmatchable in its brilliance. He was in his cadet uniform from the Garrison, surrounded by his family, all smiling broadly as well. It was taken at what looked like a party, and there was a small bit of inked writing scrawled in the corner that gave the date. At that, the realization hit Keith. This must have been the last time Lance had seen his family. From before he was whisked off to space to fight a war that the barely had any part of, and may have been a little bit Keith’s fault.

Now, Keith knew that wasn’t true, but the guilt always had a way of sneaking up on him, no matter how irrational it was. 

He set the picture down as gently as he could, and couldn’t help but wonder why such a beautiful picture was shoved down in this clogged basement. As he did so, he heard chatter from upstairs. 

Keith only hoped Lance was alright, and that he could repair whatever connections had been severed with his family, and especially any that Keith may have played a part of.

* * *

 

_ Lance _

 

“So, um…” Lance was at a loss for words, for once. How would he even say something so momentous to his family?  _ Hey guys, sorry I haven’t seen you in years, I was actually just fighting a war in space, haha, no worries.  _ A sliver of fear shot through Lance. He wondered briefly if they would believe him, if they would label him crazy, if they would call him out as the liar he was but for all the wrong reasons, for making something absurd up to cover up something criminal.

Lance nearly sighed in relief and almost slapped himself all at once when he remembered that  _ oh yeah, we’re being attacked by aliens! _

Which he had brought right to their doorstep. 

Guilt joined the irrational fear already residing in his heart. Hearing the hum of spacecraft overhead, Lance swallowed it down. Now was no time for hesitation and stupid second guessing. Idiota. Now was the time for action. 

“Spit it out, Lance!” Abuela bit out. Lance tried to hide his flinch. 

“I…” Lance swallowed. No, not outright. He would ease them into it, somehow. “You heard what that soldier said, about the Paladins of Voltron?”

Abuela’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about it? What does that have to do with you? You obviously know something about these monsters at our door, so please, enlighten us!” she spat out, one question after another so fast Lance felt his head start to spin.

Lance opened his mouth to respond, feeling angry and to blame all at once. 

Abuela beat him to it. 

“Just who do you think you are?” Abuela spat vehemently.

There was a pause, the hushed whispers of the other family members, halted. Lance hadn’t realized they’d been going on until they stopped. Well, this wasn’t how he’s exactly planned it happening, but it was now or never.

“I’m a Paladin of Voltron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay! I’m really, really, really sorry this one is so short! It’s like half the size of my normal chapters!  
> … Please forgive me. The next ones will be good I promise.  
> As always, hope you enjoyed, don’t forget to tell me what y’all think, and thank you all so much for being so patient with my procrastinating self.  
> (also i tried to keep up with my chapter title number wordplay thing but it didnt work i couldnt find anything with 4 im sorry dear readers i have failed you)
> 
> Love you all, my wonderful readers,  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


	5. I got some things to say and you got some things you're gonna hear

Hey, so, this isn't a chapter, sorry guys. But I've got some stuff to say that you will want to hear.

After some reflection, I have decided to end this story at chapter four. Why you might ask? In short, the VLD fandom has gotten a little wild for me. I would like to explain a little further my thoughts on season 7, which honestly is only the catalyst for the absolute madness the fandom has become. So, if you would like to know more than the short and simple, read below my dudes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Alright, so I suppose this was a long time coming. The Voltron fandom, as many of you probably know, went off like a bomb of hostile feelings after season 7. We got our hopes up (I say we because I too was a little naive in my high expectations for this season) , and then things didn't work out how we wanted. So what does the fandom do? Throw a temper tantrum of terrifying proportions. I don't think that I can brave the hate going around right now, and I can't find it in me to "finish" this fic. 

However, in regards to this fic, it has, in my mind, fulfilled its intended purpose. I had had some grand ideas of an action showdown and spotlight for some background characters, but even without the mess right now I honestly would have probably had problems finishing it. So, it's done. Please don't hate me too much. 

In regards to my thoughts on season 7 exclusively, for those of you who may be curious (what the hell, truth of the matter is I wanna say my two cents), I have a few things to say. First of all, I do believe in my writer heart that they handled Adam the best way possible. Introducing him so late in the show made it impossible for much development or attachment to occur, and he was obviously marked as an important character. As a writer who began with writing 2-3 page stories within a half an hour for competition, I learned very quickly and early on that for the most emotional impact in a story, normally tragedy is the surest street to go down. So, when they killed Adam, I was a little angry (okay, a lot), but I wasn't surprised. And I hope you haven't forgotten Shiro's finale speech at the end of the last episode, and when he mentioned loss and mourning (and a very poetic and beautifully worded line, mind you) the screen focused on Adam's plaque. Cinematography is not something to be taken lightly, and even though he was speaking in a vague sense, it is clearly stated in the "language" of the visual we were given that he was speaking about Adam. That, my friends, is when I was content with season 7. 

In regards to Klance, I'm a fan of the ship too, but I have one message for those of you who are angry that it might not be canon: Suck it up. It's not a romantic centered show. It's not about your ship. Grow up. It doesn't have to be canon for you to like it, so get over the small facts and get on with you lives. Let people live theirs. Please. I'm so tired of this. 

 

Anyways, that's all folks, please comment if you would like to discuss with me about anything. Other than that, peace out.

~TheFullmetalSociopath


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